


Numinous

by SchonAndDying



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: ??? to Friends to Lovers, Bloodshed, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Religious Conflict, Slow Burn, but none of our religions, like a funky lil merfolk religion i havent completely thought out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27930688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SchonAndDying/pseuds/SchonAndDying
Summary: No one has ever broken the surface of the Void and returned the same. Jake Park knew the stories of those who chased after the Forbidden Ones. A spear to the eye would be a kind punishment if the church found out someone had breeched it
Relationships: Michael Myers/Jake Park
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	Numinous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [its_tony_yoooo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_tony_yoooo/gifts), [CheriRain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheriRain/gifts).



> This fic was originally inspired by GumbaBunny's 'My Merman'. It's a really fun read and I highly recommend giving it a look at!

His family was strictly religious. Meals were hunted when Mistress was in full glow and devoured when she disappeared from sight. Sacrifices made and buried when Mistress was half visible. Jake had always been distant from his family, closer to the Mistress and her pull on the surface. She controlled their waves, chose the paths of the currents, cultivated the land into what it was. Without her, they would have nothing. Jake was grateful for her and the many places she's tucked away in secrecy for him to explore.

They were higher up in the hierarchy than most could get just with charm and exceptionally good connections. With their natural ability to withstand the oppressive colds of the Darkness and immense pressures, they could visit the large hubs of their people and openly trade and make connections. Those who could not withstand the Darkness were left to hunt and fend for themselves, lest they make friends with someone of higher status. 

For Jake, the cities were too noisy. Too many people packed into one place doing too many things. It was ever expanding through the ocean floor, expanding the perimeter and building into the caves and rocks. Hatchlings were always roaming about, getting used to emerging from the mimicry fish form and adapting to their new arms and gills. Trading was nice. Easy access to new equipment and garbs made life easier. But he derived more pleasure from crafting them himself. Any chance he got, he bought spears without carvings, clothes not yet sewn, knives and traps without any adornments and decorations. Just so he could do it himself. Yes, it was time consuming and spending hours carving a stone spear or knife, only to have to go out and set upon the tedious task of resetting traps all but killed his fingertips and shoulders; but it was worth it.

His family lived just upon the very edge of the current expanse of the Darkness' largest city. Just south of the hunting lands and within a short swim of the church. His father was a man held with high regard in the city, their heritage and his family's involvement in the church a major factor in their cushy lifestyle. The plan was for his elder brother to take over his role in the church while Jake took up a position beside him as help. Until then, they had to maintain appearances and keep up the family's honor. Which was easy when there was very little to do inside the Darkness that could bring disgrace. 

Outside it, Mistress tempted him. With adventure, freedom, boundless exploration. Her currents pulled him further, Her hand guiding him to brighter waters. Still, he never followed Her hand to the Void. As much as he despised being in the city limits, he would never bring himself to break the Void's boundary. Hunting teams that had told tales of moving shelters that sat between the two worlds had come back with less than half of the people they had left with. Gruesome description of beasts not unlike them, their tails split down the middle. A punishment, most likely, from the Mistress.

To face the Void would be to directly disobey Mistress and not only bring shame upon his family, but his death. 

Jake slips from their shelter and heads up to the hunting ground. The water is buzzing with energy, schools of fish swimming around the coral. Light filtering through the water and washing the landscape in a soft golden glow. The quiet was blissful. Settling himself amongst the coral, he crosses his arms over his stomach and closes his eyes. It would be a perfect day for exploration. Father would be busy with preparations of the Tides Ceremony, Mother as well. Both of their children would be ignored for the time being. 

Soaking in the light for a while longer, dozing on and off before pushing off and heading towards to his cave tucked away under the corpse of one of the Void's floating shelters. Pressing his shoulder against it, he pushes it up some and swipes his bound seaweed bag. Dropping the corpse he ties it around his shoulder, across his chest, and rests it on his hip just above his pectoral fin. Heading off, he follows his usual path away from the Darkness. 

It was brighter out here, warmer, less pressure pushing down on him. It made his movements quicker and smoother. Fish avoid him in wide bubbles, venturing closer when he stills and nibbling from his fingers. Jake drags a hand along the sand as he approaches his cave. Shimmying through a thin crack, he slips in and immediately goes for the half completed spear. His cave was decorated with several items fallen from the Void. Spears, fake fish and metal hooks, cylindrical metal containers, decorations on tiny chains, rings, tangled nets, boxes filled with brightly colored bits and bobs that fish try to eat when he brings them out. It's his special place, safe from everyone else, safe from politics and responsibilities, and far outside anyone's territories. Settling down on a smooth rock he undoes the pack from around his shoulder and sets it down beside him. Pulling his carving equipment he begins the long process of imbuing the item with holy symbolism and imagery of shells and general shapes of fish. 

Suddenly, a loud ruckus outside catches his attention. Fish flee into the cave as something splashes. A noise Jake's never heard before grumbles above him. Approaching the crack, he peeks through it, squinting and tilting his head upwards. A shadow overhead interrupts the light, something moves. Pressing closer, he strains his vision to tell what it was exactly. It moves from his vision as the thundering growl dies out. 

Poking his head and shoulders out carefully, he cranes his head before disappearing back inside. A curse at the tip of his tongue as he turns away. Diving for his spear he takes it in both hands and presses himself into the furthest corner of the cave. _Forsaken Ones_. 

They ventured into the waters often, hunting their food and diving into their waters to explore their lands. They were weak under the surface of the Void; above it, however, they were impenetrable. Jake's never heard of someone returning when they break Void's surface. Tales of Forsaken Ones with large machines that pierce the toughest scales and destroy their armor. From hatchlinghood, he's had stories drilled into his head of their effortless slaughter. 

Exhaling quietly, he watches the small opening of his cave. He wouldn't go out and confront them, but he would defend his territory if they invaded it. But, after a while, nothing happens. Adventuring forwards, he presses the side of his face to the entrance and peers out. The Forsaken One was an odd looking creature. It nearly looked like him from the waist up. Its tail was split into two and looked more ridged than his. Their flesh was a dark black with purple accents. Face smooth and featureless as it exhaled large plumes of bubbles. Clawless fingers reach out and inspect one of his traps. _Damn it._

They'd either destroy it or start looking around. If they didn't know he was here before, they'd be curious now. Despite the danger, he can't help but stare. It was like looking at a crude imitation of his people. Something _so close_ that had gone _so bad._ Their movements were slow and clunky, split tails flailing awkwardly behind them. Looking around they hold up the trap and another large plume of bubbles escape from their face. A second appears from over his cave and lowers to look at it with the other. How many were here?!

He should have stayed home today...

One of them points upwards and the other takes it carefully. Oh, so they were just going to _take_ his means of providing for himself. Brilliant. Swimming upwards they disappear beyond his sight. The other begins to look around again, swimming close to the bottom. The closer he draws, the quieter Jake makes himself, drifting back away from the entrance as to not draw attention to it. 

The Forsaken One drifts by, he takes the opportunity to get a closer look. It appeared masculine, broad and strong. Gripping his spear tighter, he watches them swim past his cave. He could take them. If his mother had taught him anything, it was how to hunt. Efficiently. 

The other appears again. Pulling away from the entrance he lowers himself to the sandy floor and stares up. They'll probably go in face first, he could aim for their throat once it poked through enough. He wasn't sure if the Forsaken One's scales were like theirs' but the throat was always a surefire way to maim something. Webless, dull fingers appear through the crack. They grip the edge before an arm reaches through, feeling for something. It disappears before he thinks to bite it. Straightening up he peeks through the hole, only to be met with another pair of eyes. Both of them jolt back. Jake squishes himself into a blind spot of the entrance, preparing himself to attack them. But... nothing happens. 

He doesn't relax for a while. Keeping at the ready for one of the Forsaken Ones to emerge. They never do. A fish swims through the entrance and he takes that as a sign they've back up enough for it to be safe to check. Peeking through the two Forsaken Ones are still close to his cave, bubbles streaming up from their faces. One points and the other one shakes their head. Tugging on their arm they point again. The masculine one moves to start towards his cave again when the other stops him. 

Eventually they move back up, breaching the Void and disappearing back onto their shelter. Settling back onto his rock, he exhales quietly and returns to carving. It wouldn't be safe to leave just yet, he wasn't sure if they would stick around. He'd need to wait to make sure they were really gone. Hunting be damned for today. 

Boredom crawls across his skin as he leans back and continues his work. Its mind numbing by the time he's rewrapping the cord around the spear handle at the very bottom. The yawning need to stretch his tail just as loud as if he'd stayed home. Shoulders and neck dealt a considerable crick in them now. Peeking back out from his cave he's relieved to find the shelter gone. As well as his trap. He'll have to do it old school, then. Very well. He wants the exercise and entertainment anyways.

Hunting goes well. He ties the fish together by their tails and puts them in a net he had scavenged from a destroyed shelter. Heading further away from home he slips a stone carved triangular card from his garbs. Shoving his arm through a hole in a cliffside, the triangle is taken from his hand. Looking around he shifts and grunts quietly. It's pressed back into his palm and he retracts his arm. 

A large boulder is pulled from the side. The Trapper's hulking form looming over him. Wordlessly, he slips inside and tightens the knot of his bag around him. The rock slots back into place behind him.

"What are you willing to take for a new trap?" Jake asks, presenting his catches to the other. Looking them over, his tail flicks as he reaches forwards and grabs a trout. Following him back to his booth, he pulls out two medium traps. Picking them up carefully, he tucks them under his arm.

"Color." Two broad hands find his shoulders, gripping tightly and pulling his backwards. Flinching he tries to break free but sharp claws dig in. "Color" She greets again, chirping happily. Her grasp of his language- any, really- was rudimentary and clunky on her tongue. She liked to call him 'Color' for the shifting hues of his tail in the light. Often takes him outside of the market to watch them in the light as he swims around. 

"Anna." Jake grunts, wiggling free only when she lets him. Turning around he faces her. A sharp, shark toothed smile greets him. 

"Feed." She drags him back towards her trading post. Struggling is futile against her. 

"I'm not hungry, I ate last moon." He says, placing his traps onto her counter. Still, Anna ignores him and presses a slice of meat into his palms. It doesn't appear like any fish he's ever seen before. Looking closer, he's suddenly pulled into her side again.

"Track many moons. Shelter tough. Prize small." She says, pushing it closer to his face. Turning it away he gives the meat a cautious look. She's always said she hunts Forsaken Ones, but... "Eat."

"Is it-" With a firm nod she frees her blade and slices a chunk off. Chewing it as if showing him how to eat, she hums loudly and smiles as she swallows. "I'll eat it later, okay?" Placated, she puts it in his bag for him.

Tightening the knot from where she's tugged it loose, he takes a look around her booth. Noticing her supplies dwindling, he takes the opportunity for a distraction. "Do you want more spears?" 

"No carved." 

"Alright. Thank you for the... food." She squeezes his shoulders before sending him off with his traps. Nearing the entrance, Trapper pulls himself away from his booth and digs his claws into the grooves of the stone. Pulling, he opens it up enough for Jake to squeeze through. He has to yank his tail through quickly as it slots back into place heavily. 

Heading back towards his cave he keeps an eye out for anymore shelters overhead. Without another sighting he sets them up. Ducking back inside he takes a few of his most prized trinkets (just in case) and carefully places them in his bag before heading back home.

Hiding his bag beneath the broken shelter he slips into the hunting ground's coral and waits. The last few rays of light warm his skin before fading out into shallow darkness. He doesn't notice the change in light until a hatchling, whose ability to see in the extreme darks hasn't fully developed, bumps into him. Guiding them back towards their home he continues on afterwards. If his brother hears him creep inside, he doesn't say anything.

The next time he heads up to his cave, a shelter is already overhead. His brand new traps gone and Forsaken Ones visible in the distance. He merges with the ground as best he can, peeking from the seaweed and coral as they drift upwards and away. After an appropriate distance is established he zips inside.

This is horrible. There's no way they _don't_ know he's here and actively looking for him. He may be forced to give this location up if they get too close. Hopefully their bulky and awkward builds wouldn't permit them to squeeze through the narrow entrance. 

Anna might help him. If he can get back to Bloodweb Market and not be spotted she might chase them off, maybe add a few more bodies to her Forsaken Ones kill count. But would that bring attention to this area? It was worryingly in between both his home and the market. The last thing they needed was Forsaken Ones getting interested in this area. 

Setting his bag down he grabs his knife and settles back down for the wait. In that time he manages to finish his spear and sharpen his blades to finer points than his own claws. The light grows dim and their shelter does not leave. The Forsaken Ones are not within sight. Still, it's too dangerous to leave with their shelter so close. He's taken to sorting his belongings by what he'll be moving first. Hopefully Hag is feeling generous enough to guide him towards another cave. 

The shelter rumbles horribly and starts to move. Slipping out he heads home with a deep grimace. The swim is short and swift, he's squirming through the window when his brother appears in his burrow. Tail half through the window he flounders slightly before straightening out and giving him an even look.

"Yes? Samuel?" He snips, resting his new spear onto his bedding.

"You're staying out late." He comments. Jake pays his accusatory tone no mind as he undoes the knot of his bag.

"I found a choking turtle. I didn't want to leave it until I helped it and got it to eat." Smoothing out his garbs he starts to detach the thin metal chains from around his throat and wrists. 

"You shouldn't go out enough to _see_ turtles." He won't tell their parents. A life long truce stands strong. Still, he's got the temperament of their father and the fretfulness of their mother. "They go up into the Void, those creatures have no loyalties." 

"While they're here, I practice the Mistress' compassion. Their sins are theirs to carry but I have forgiveness." It sounds a bit silly to hear himself say. Turtles weren't like them. Whatever Mistress crafted turtles from, it wasn't with the same morality and intelligence as them. It's a simple animal with needs that extended into the Void. "Besides, I'm wary of shelters and would have left had I seen any."

Samuel sighs, pressing a hand to his temple. His shoulders sag as he moves forwards into his room and suddenly grabs him into a tight hug. Stiffening briefly, he slowly sinks into the contact. Wrapping his arms around him he awkwardly pats his back.

"I'm sorry. I know you don't like being down here but it scares me to see you go out there all the time." Wiggling free from his hold he pats his shoulder and smiles.

"I can hold my own. Besides, what were all those sparring lessons when we were kids for if to not use them?" Rolling his eyes, Samuel lightly pushes his hand off.

"Please don't go looking for a fight." He groans, looking like he regretted being worried. Jake just gives him an impish grin and pushes him with his tail. Swatting it away, he shoots him a look when he pushes him again. "I'm not coming down to your level, baby brother."

"Baby? I've got a longer tail than you!" He laughs. 

"That's genetics! It doesn't mean anything." 

"Means mine's better for wackin'!" Wise to this game, Samuel ducks before he can be smacked. When two more attempts to bludgeon his brother are fruitless he concedes with a laugh. Samuel seems more relaxed, too, as he chuckles beside him. Mood noticeably better.

"Alright, I'll leave you alone. But mother wants to speak to you about a shipment she wants you to take to the healer." Bidding him a farewell his brother is off to practice his sermons and catch up on rest. Jake, still unfulfilled from his day of sitting around, takes to hiding the items he's stowed away around his private quarters. He'll move everything into his new cave eventually, but for now he'll need to keep them here. 

He'd rather not, as his father flipped back and forth if Void items were blasphemous or just ugly. Either way, he didnt want to lose anything.

When he does settle down to rest a while, his mind lingers on how eerily similar Forsaken Ones resembled himself.

* * *

The ocean was calm today. Waves brushed against the boat and rocked it, but left them alone. Sun shone but didn't burn. Breeze blew and brushed against their skins, Bill's wide brimmed hat stayed perched nicely on his head. Ashes tumbled from the end of his cigar as he chews it, permanently furrowed brows creased as he watches the waves.

David is shimmying into his diving gear. Chewing their ears off about the figure he saw again. Meg beside him, disbelieving of every word. His descriptions have changed since he first saw it two weeks ago. From tanned skin, narrow black eyes and sharp scales that framed its face to blueish skin with long sharp teeth and frilly gills. The man was too pumped up about discovering something to care _what_ he saw exactly. 

The plan was to placate David's excitement and hopefully never have to come out to this specific portion of the ocean again. He and Meg would dive down and look, lure the creature into a net if possible. Meanwhile, they would wait on the ship if anything did happen and they needed assistance. Which, wouldn't happen. They'd find nothing and this was a huge waste of time. 

"Sit down, won't you? Making my old knees ache looking at ya." Michael turns to look at him. The old man is already turned away, chewing on his cigar and puffing out smoke. Ignoring him, he finishes up untangling the net. Meg swings her legs and peers over the side of the boat, already looking bored.

"We've been out here three times, King. Nothin's out here. I dunno what you and Dweet saw but I doubt you're gonna find the first mermaid after a century of no one seeing one."

"I know what Ah saw." He grumbles with an unwavering determination. "Not lioke Ah can ask Mike ta join me."

"Don't call him that." Bill chimes loudly. "He don't like it." David just starts on setting all his breathing equipment into place. Michael turns away and hands the older man his fishing rod. Nodding his thanks he puffs out some smoke through his nostrils and settles onto his foldout chair. 

"Michael's gonna beat your ass again, King. And I better be there when he does it." Meg chuckles as she fixes her own equipment. Properly ruled up by this he whacks at her shoulder lightly and stands quickly to his feet. Underfoot the boat rocks as waves splash against the side. Meg pushes him overboard, watching him flail before gracefully hopping in herself. 

The two disappear underneath the waves. Michael casts out the net before Bill can tell him to. Leaning back in his heels he watches the top of the water. He's never seen a mermaid, he thinks idly about what they must look like alive. Museums had paintings and skeletal remains and artifacts of them. Their anatomy was weird and it was hard to picture them with flesh. Would they be like fish or like him? Big, small, muscular, wiry, feral? Did it even know what they were, that others were out there. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. Michael was only brought out here because he works for Bill and has plenty of muscle to spare. 

Bill catches two fish before Michael notices something under the water. A large shape thrashes and moves underneath the waves. A hand flies up and slaps against the deck of the boat, Meg heaving half of her body onto the boat before he bends over and tugs her on. Spitting out her respirator she gasps and grabs at the net above water. 

Something tugs against it. _Hard_. Hard enough to send her forwards into the water again. Standing from his chair, Bill sets his fishing rod down and moves to help bring into the net. An unfamiliar arm emerges first. Sharp claws digging into the wood and pressing against the boat. David climbs up from the side of the boat, bleeding and missing his breathing equipment. He sputters water and nearly collapses.

"We got tha bastard! Reel 'em in!" He barks between loud wheezes. It thrashes and struggles wildly, spraying water and splashing everywhere. Michael doesn't flinch against it as he heaves it up onto the wood. A loud, snarling hiss fills the air as something heavy swipes a leg from underneath him. He stumbles ever so slightly. 

Moving forwards he grabs it by the elbow and pins it down. All its thrashing had tangled it up in the net. The ropes pressing and straining against its skin. Meg bumps shoulders with him as she presses the needle into its hip. With a mighty jerk that almost had his grip slipping it yowls and bangs its tail against the deck.

The four watch in silence as its struggling slows to a halt and it falls limp. As soon as he steps back it curls up on itself, barely pulling its tail into the ball. The sedative makes its hands shaky and slow, there's a distinct horror in its eyes as it tries to press its palms to its eyes but can't curl its claws how it needs to. It's… nothing like the museum paintings he's seen on TV. Skin is sunkissed where fern green scales don't cover the flesh, ears long and pointed downwards with its distress. Piercing eyes dart between them as the drugs start to take hold. Muscular tail twitching and tail flicking, it mumbles a growl the best it can. The boat sways underneath it and it looks like it might be ill. When the sun catches them right, individual scales appear as though they hold every color of the rainbow.

"See! Ah wasn't lyin'!" David yells in triumph, stepping closer. It's gurgling growl rumbles louder like a faulty engine finally starting up. It watches through narrowed eyes, flicking back and forth between all of them. 

"Holy shit!" Meg laughs. "Look at those colors. We'll be rich!" Bill pulls Michael back a few steps. The crease between his brows deeps into something more as he watches its chest heaves, gills gasping for breath. Water sputters from its lips as it takes its first breath of air with a wheeze. Eyes growing unfocused.

"Stay away from it. Michael, put it in the tub so it don't dry." As he moves towards it again, it flexes its claws uselessly and snarls something fierce. Sharp teeth bared as he picks it up by the net. It falls limp, twitching and jerking as he moves it into the large tub of saltwater meant for holding fish. It sinks into the water with a panicked breath, forcing its head underneath with all its strength.

"What's it doin'?" David asks, peering over the side. Looking back, Michael meets it's eyes briefly before it looks down at the tangle of net around him.

"Breathin', kid. Leave it. Michael, get it out of the net, its gonna hurt itself." Without further prompting he sets to work. The sedative isn't a strong one, or at least, not strong for its kind. He's about halfway through getting it out, it lashes out again. Sharp claws rip through his chest down to his stomach. Groaning quietly he catches its wrists and pins them to the metal. Freeing a knife from his waistband he cuts through the rest of the net, too annoyed to be delicate. It hisses and groans in his grip, squirming away from the blade and pushing against his hold. 

Pulling the remains out he steps away from the tub and chucks it towards the middle of the deck. It pulls it's long tail into the water, curling up awkwardly. It's not being enough for it and it has to stick its head practically out. Webbed ears sit up and seaweed green eyes watch their every move.

"What're we gonna do with it?" Meg asks, leaning forwards in her seat. Beside her, David is patching his considerably smaller wound. When he's done he clicks the medkit closed and tosses it to Michael, who catches it and promptly puts it back in its place. "You know how much people would pay for this? None of us would have to worry again."

"Quiet, you two. I'm takin' you to the dock and figurin' what to do with it myself." Bill worries his cigar with his teeth, steering with one hand.

"Bloody hell ya are. We all gotta talk about this." 

"My boat, Micheal's catch, my rules."

"Michael's catch?! I'm tha one that got the cunt in tha net!" Bill just grunts and nothing more is said on the matter.

When they pull into the dock, the merman catches one glimpse of another person before squeezing itself underneath the water as best as possible. Meg manages to get David off and she shares a quiet word with Bill. With a heavy sigh he steps back on the boat and pulls away. Michael watches the merman stare up at the sky with a quieted, confused, terrified _awe_. Like a child seeing snow for the first time.

Bill takes them out a while until he stops in the middle of the water, far enough away from the docks to barely see them in the distance. He stands from his seat and makes his way over to the tub. Offering his hand, the merman stares. Scales prickling and ears raised in warning. He stays still and presents his palm. Slowly, he sits up in the tub. Bill takes a step back but keeps his hand out. Moving the cigar between his fingers he exhales smoke as he speaks.

"I don't know if you understand me, but I'm letting you go." Motioning to the water, he watches as his eyes quickly flicker in that direction. "You can go." 

A clawed hand finds the lip of the tub, it pulls itself up to sit on the very edge. Blindly, it reaches out behind it for the protective railing. Once it locates it it shimmies back onto it. In the sunlight its tail shimmers reds, yellows, and purple. Wet hair dripping onto a soft face, almost covered its glittering eyes. The skin of its face was perfectly scale-less, like a mask of a human face overtop its own. If it wasn't for the thin slit for an iris in the center of its eye, Michael might have believed it could be an actor. 

"Go on, get. 'Fore I start thinkin' about this." Bill motions to the water again. It's still a moment longer, looking at them like it couldn't comprehend they existed before dropping into the water. Tail slips away out of sight into the depths. Bill turns to him and grunts loudly, putting his cigar back between his teeth. An angry look is cast out to the ocean as he scratches under his hat.

"I ain't mad at it." He sighs, noticing Michael's stare. "Next time yer on this boat, it's business as usual." 

And it was. They go out again in a few weeks. Fishing as usual with few hiccups. Bill brought his radio this time. He tells about his time in the military, chuckling at the story of his training and some kid sniveling about how they didn't need to be yelled at to do something. Michael watches the water. The wound had healed nicely on his chest, it was scarring over and they were pink and puffy. He didn't mind it too much, the pain was the only real annoyance.

They don't return to dock until past the busy hours. The old vet is a little miffed by it and grumbles around his cigar as he helps to clean up. Michael is tightening the knot keeping the boat in place when something catches his eye. An odd struggling disturbing the water beneath the dock. It doesn't move like any loose netting, knocked off life jackets, or bundle of ropes would. It seemed like an animal of sorts. Maybe another turtle got stuck in plastic. Slipping into the water he swims towards it. 

It's… It's the merman? Tangled up in another net and bleeding from the forehead. Its squirming weakly at his approach, hazy eyes barely tracking his movements. The net is caught on something on the dock and keeping it pinned here. Already blue tinged arms look just about purple and its neck is already thoroughly bruised. Grabbing the snagged portion of the net he tries to heave it up off of what it was caught on. It squeals quietly in pain, head falling to the side to better show off the choker of shallow cuts and angry bruises. 

"Kid?" Bill asks, having turned around to find him seemingly gone. "God damn… left and ol' man to get everything done by himself." Michael grabs the side of the dock with his free hand and pulls it up over the loose board it was snagged on. The cheap plastic severs in some places and strains against his fingers. With the last of its strength, the merman howls something fierce and chokes on the netting around its throat. Summoning any bit of energy it resumes its struggle, only working to tighten the knots around its left arm.

"Kid?! What the fuck is goin' on down there, ain't ever heard you scream before." Michael grabs it by the shoulder. It screams again, desperate and raw. Bill calls for him again, more worried this time. Pulling it backwards he emerges from underneath the dock and immediately meets Bill's eyes. 

"What the…" Cigar falls into the water as he openly gawks at the merman in his arms. It throws its head back and gasps shakily. Barely getting any air, or water in, it panics. 

"Get 'em up! Michael, hand 'em to me." Opening his arms he leans forwards. Its struggling could barely sway even Bill with his bad hip, so he hands it over. Climbing back up onto the wood he quickly takes it around the shoulders and heaves it upwards. Surprisingly, it's a lot heavier than its thinner build would portray. Thick tail must pack most of the weight. Laying it out on the dock he pins it in place with his knee.

"Gimme yer knife, kid." Bill says, fumbling around his own pockets for his. Michael slips it from his belt and flicks it open before handing it over. It howls and grumbles like a feral cat when it gets near its throat. Bill does his best to shush him the best he can. The netting is severed and it jerks upwards to take a giant, gasping breath. Pushing it back down by its shoulder it goes limp under his hand, panting and wheezing weakly. By the time the net is completely cut off it's out. 

Michael had watched as unfocused hazel eyes dipped closed. The only reason he hadn't bothered to alert Bill because of its evening breathing. He notices when he finishes with the net, pressing his fingers to the column of its throat he shifts his fingers around before pulling away with a concerned sigh.

"I don't know mermaid anatomy… What the hell are we goin' to do with him?" Raising its arm he carefully presses at the skin. The netting had sliced through the softer skin on the underside of its arms, but the protective scales were mostly untouched. Grabbing him back under the arms he moves to heave it back into the ocean, as Bill had told him to last time, when he's stopped by a hand on his arm. 

"I don't trust it'll last long like that." Eyeing the hand still on his arm wearily he drops it back onto the wood. "Oh, sorry, kid." Pull away he kneels beside the merman and tilts his head. 

"Take it to the truck. I'm gonna watch over it." He says. Michael hoists it up into his arms with a muted grunt. Somehow, its heavier limp. Tail firm and muscular against his palm. He doesn't bother to question why he doesn't just push it back out to sea again. If it came from in there it could survive on its own. Besides, it won't be happy to wake up and see them. _If_ it woke up. 

The setting sun glitters off its scales, wet hair has a healthy greenish tint when the light hits it right. Stepping up onto the step he all but dumps it in. Stepping over the back he adjusts its tail and lays it out along the bottom, pushing bait boxes and netting to the side. 

Bill walks up the short hill with his fishing rods and tackle box. Setting them into the passenger seat he climbs into the driver's seat. Fumbling with his lighter the truck grumbles to life, idling hard underneath them. Leaning back against the trunk door he crosses his arms and watches the merman. It looked… peaceful. Sans the bleeding and bruises it looked okay. Almost like a person if he squinted. 

The truck pulls away and the breaks screech. Despite the bumpy back roads and loud groans of an old car, it doesn't stir. He prods at it with the toe of his boot. Nudging at its pectoral fin and watching it fall back into place. 

Gravel bangs the bottom if the truck and one tire takes a pothole harder than the other. As they're passing his neighbors he throws the tarp over it. They pull into Bill's driveway and he cuts the engine before snuffing his cigarette out in the cup holder. Laying out the tarp he awkwardly pulls it on and wraps the two ends around it. Bill pops the trunk door open. He hops off and slides it out and into his arms. Luckily, it should be late enough in the afternoon that no one will come out to bother them about their catches. 

"Bring 'em to the bathroom. I'll run the tub." He grumbles and opens the door for him. Michael makes his way back and plops it down into the tub. Shimmying the tarp free from underneath it he folds it over his arm. Bill follows in behind him and plugs the drain before turning the water on. Its tail is too large and hangs from the polyester and the fin lays flat in the ground. Stepping over it he goes to leave the bathroom before pausing and turning back. 

"Are ya stayin' far a while, or do ya wanna go home?" He asks. Michael looks back at it and Bill pats the doorway before leaving. Its breathing had calmed into a slow pace and small bubbles trickle from its lips until all the air had been expelled. The transition from tough scales to soft skin was soft and seamless. Blue-green faded into tanned skin. Drying hair curled at the very ends. Stopping the water when it reaches just under its eyes he sits back on his heels and stares. So… they _were_ real. Weird.

Bill returns with a plastic cup and hand rag. Shoving the rag under the water he rings it out over its tale. Getting water all over the floor. Without a doubt he'll be complaining about it later, even if Michael dries it for him. Which… he might not. Depends in if he's attacked again.

"Ya ever go to one of them ocean museums?" Filling up the glass he pours it over its head. Blood is giving the water a pinkish tinge, it'll need to be refilled at some point. "Haven't either. Don't know a damn thing about merpeople. Don't know where my damn phone is either. You think we gotta keep it wet?" 

His signed yes is sloppy and slow despite it being only one of the three signs he actually uses. Bill clears his throat and dumps another cup full of water over its head. Sloshing it around the cup he looks at the pinkish hue. A concerned look crosses his features for a moment before he reaches in and lifts its arm.

The cuts are deeper closer to the wrists where it had pushed and strained against the netting the most. One ran along the gentle rise of its hip to just above where its stomach tapered off into a tough tail. The ones around the delicate flesh of its throat weren't particularly life threatening. Maybe a few would scar but it'd be fine.

He sticks around for a few more hours, silently refusing dinner and poking around the merman a while longer. By the time he's ready to leave he realizes something. Bill's chewing on a microwave dinner on his recliner. He grabs his pad and pen from the TV stand. 

'how will it leave?' He writes and holds the pad out for him to read from. 

"Don't think it can, kid." He grumbles around a mouthful.

'No' 

"Well, what do you mean?" 

'how will you get it out tomorrow' 

"I can wait for tomorrow night. These people gotta sleep eventually. Unless you're bruising to keep it at yours? You got a bigger tub?" 

'Pond'

"Yeah, you live out on yer own, huh?" Bill takes another bite, looking over the pad of paper before handing it back. Michael looks at it for a moment before deciding he doesn't have much else to say and tucking it into his pocket. "We'll move it tomorrow. How 'bout that? Early morning, five-ish."

'Home.' He signs with more attention than he's ever given the action. Bill obliges and they don't talk about the merman again for the drive.


End file.
